


always will be

by loafers



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loafers/pseuds/loafers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 seconds of summer have a few days off, and michael's not getting out of bed. calum ends up joining him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always will be

**Author's Note:**

> literally this whole story takes place in bed, it's ridiculous. enjoy some malum feelings <3
> 
> as always, 5sos are classed as underage in america so do what you want with that information. 
> 
> also as always, wouldn't exist without [sara's](http://cyclogenesis.tumblr.com) encouragement <3 what a star i love her
> 
> title is from 5sos' _wherever you are_ because i'm a cheeseball

They have a couple days off and Michael declares that he’s not leaving the hotel.

“Gonna sleep, gonna play vidya. Nothing else,” he says decisively as they’re changing for bed. It used bother Calum, how Michael could want to stay in all day when they’re somewhere new and exciting all the time, waste the nice weather in front of his laptop, but he’s used to it now. It’s just Michael, and sometimes he’s more excited about virtual worlds than he is the real world. Calum doesn’t get it, but it’s okay. 

-

Michael wasn’t lying. He’s just a fluffy purple haired frowny face peeking out from under the white sheets when Calum tries to wake him to go down for breakfast the next morning. 

“Noooo,” Michael whines and curls stubbornly up under his sheets, so Calum flicks him on the forehead and goes down to breakfast by himself. 

Michael’s still asleep an hour or so later when Calum comes back to change his shoes. Ashton’s got big plans involving minigolf and possibly paddleboats, and Calum doesn’t want to lose a thong in a lake, again. 

Michael’s curled up right where Calum left him, sheets pushed down his chest and an arm thrown over his face to block out the dull glow of the sun coming in through the curtains. The room feels warm and dry and smells stale, like morning breath. Calum goes to the window and pushes it open an inch or so, a light breeze ruffling the curtains, letting in enough light that Michael stirs, groaning. 

Calum laughs as he steps out of his thongs and shoves his feet in his sneakers, wiggling his ankle to get his heel in properly. Undoing the laces is for losers. 

“Why,” Michael complains, his voice dry and croaky. 

“It’s after eleven, Mikey,” Calum says softly, making his way over to Michael’s bed. 

“Told you, sleeping,” Michael grumbles. Calum touches his fingertips to the soft exposed underside of Michael’s arm, strokes down to his armpit and wiggles his fingers, tickling him. 

“Nooo, quit,” Michael huffs and pulls his arm down tight against his chest in defense, trapping Calum’s hand under it as he opens his eyes enough to squint at Calum with sleepy malice. 

Calum gives his fingers a final wriggle and then yanks his hand out. “We’re gonna play putt-putt.” 

“That’s sounds fun,” Michael mumbles completely unconvincingly and rolls over to face the wall. 

Calum can tell he’s already almost asleep again. “Night night Mikey,” he says and ruffles Michael’s mess of fluffy hair, lingering a bit to scratch at his scalp like Michael likes. Michael shrugs his shoulder at him, burying his face deeper into the pillow. 

“G’night, love you,” Michael murmurs, a sweet habit he developed back in their shared room in the London house. Calum smiles and is careful to shut the door as quietly as he can manage on his way out. 

-

Michael’s stolen all the pillows to create himself a little laptop fort in his bed. Propped up against the headboard with a couple pillows behind him and his laptop balanced on a stack in front of him, another couple for his mouse and mouse pad. 

The curtains aren’t open but there’s a plate on the bedside table with just a few salad scraps left on it so he must have got out of bed to answer the door for room service at least. 

“Did you have fun?” Michael asks. He’d sent a pouty mass text out about an hour ago demanding to know where everyone was. Calum couldn’t believe he didn’t remember him waking him up before he left. 

“Yeah, it was sick,” Calum grins and kicks off his shoes, flops down beside Michael on his bed, jostling his whole careful laptop arrangement. Calum wants to whine about how Michael should’ve come. There was laser tag and bumper cars and even a lounge inside with Call of Duty set up on an Xbox, if Michael didn’t feel like minigolf, and if Calum had known he would have badgered Michael into coming a little more aggressively. Michael would have loved it, and stuff is just more fun when it’s all four of them. When one of them’s not there Cal spends most of his time feeling a little guilty about having a good time without them. 

“What are you playing?” Calum asks, curling up against Michael’s side, probably impeding the movement of his mouse hand but Michael seems unphased, just adjusts his arm placement to accommodate the snuggle. Calum rubs his face against Michael’s shoulder, he smells like worn in t-shirts, soft cotton and skin. They went hard at the fun park, and it’s been pretty hectic nonstop on the tour, playing acoustic shows whenever they have a free day. Calum thinks maybe Michael’s got the right idea, staying in, catching up on sleep. He feels tired. 

“Walking Dead,” Michael says. 

“I thought that was a TV show.” 

“Yeah, it’s a game too.” Michael’s pretty monosyllabic when he’s in the gaming zone, but he still tips his head and lets it rest against the top of Calum’s for a moment so Calum knows he’s not bugging him. “Where’s Luke and Ash?” 

“Dunno.” Calum shrugs, and then sinks down lower on the bed. He thinks maybe they’d left on a mission to find Niall or something, but he’d been kind of distracted wanting to get back and see Michael so he hadn’t really paid attention to whatever plans they made. “Want me to text them?” Calum asks, his face pretty much squashed against Michael’s hip. 

“No, it’s okay,” Michael says, and Calum’s relieved, he’s already half sunk into a pretty solid doze curled against Michael’s side. He loves Ashton and Luke just as much as he loves Michael, but sometimes it’s just nice, the quiet comfort of Michael’s company. Michael’s not always like this, but Calum likes it when he is, when he can just curl up against him for hours uninterrupted while Michael kills zombies or aliens or something, the steady click of Michael’s mouse lulling him to sleep. Michael’s always so soft and warm. 

-

When Calum wakes up it’s dark in the room and Michael is asleep by his side. He feels stiff and too hot, still in his jeans and tucked up underneath the blankets next to Michael, the human furnace. He reaches into his pocket for his phone. It’s just after three a.m. He can’t believe he napped so long. 

He slips out of bed and Michael stirs, reaching his arm out across the ghost of warmth left behind by Calum’s body. “Sorry,” Calum whispers. 

“What’re you doing?” Michael mumbles. 

“Taking my jeans off,” Calum answers, emptying his pockets onto the table between their beds and shoving his jeans down his thighs, pausing to rearrange the hem of his pants, pull the legs back down his thighs a bit. It’s not overly cold in the room but Calum still wants to shiver, the cool air startling on his bare skin, raising goosebumps. He tugs his jeans off the rest of the way and chucks them at his suitcase. 

He turns to face his own bed, the tossed up sheets so uninviting compared to the warm bedful of Michael behind him. 

“Come back to bed,” Michael huffs and Calum frowns at him, smiling. Michael can’t see, he has his eyes closed and it’s dark, but Calum still feels the need to acknowledge the absurdity of it, being beckoned back to bed like he’s supposed to be there, like they’re a married couple or something. If Michael was properly awake it’d be laughed off as a joke but as it is Michael means it, unable to be anything but sincere when he’s half asleep, especially not under the cover of darkness, the late night hour making everything seem simple and easy. Michael wants Calum in his bed, so Calum climbs back in. 

The bed’s still warm where Calum had been lying, and so much more comfortable now he’s stripped out of his jeans, the cotton of the sheets soft against his skin. Michael shifts close to him as soon as he settles, his bare thigh bumping Calum’s under the blankets. It’s the most natural thing for Calum to let Michael slip his knee between his, their legs tangling, Michael’s socked foot rubbing against Calum’s calf briefly before Michael breathes out and his whole body seems to settle, molded to Calum’s side. 

Michael rubs his cheek against Calum’s chest, his breath warm even through his t-shirt. Calum smiles fondly at the top of his head. “M’I your pillow?” 

“Yes,” Michael mumbles, giving Calum’s waist a squeeze, “best pillow. No talking. Sleeping.” 

“Okay,” Calum sighs, closes his eyes, his breath evening out and naturally falling into rhythm with Michael’s. He’s already slept for ages but he goes to sleep like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

-

“Aw, look at ‘em, Lukey, our boys.” 

Calum cracks an eye open. It’s morning and Luke and Ashton are standing at the end of the bed. The bed he’s sharing with Michael, Michael’s bed. Michael’s drooling on Calum’s shoulder. 

Luke crosses his arms. “I’m jealous.” 

“Aw,” Calum croaks, and then clears his throat, which is enough to have Michael mumbling some complaint about the light and shifting to bury his face between Calum’s arm and the mattress. Calum holds his other arm up in invitation and Luke glares at him for a moment before slinking down onto the bed and crawling up to curl against Calum’s unoccupied side. 

“Awww,” Ashton coos. He’s already holding up his phone. The shutter sounds and Michael groans. 

“No pictures.” It’s mostly muffled, Michael’s mouth warm and wet pressed to Calum’s arm. Calum should complain about being slobbered on. 

“Too late!” Ashton giggles and launches himself onto the bed, a thick ‘oof’ noise knocked out of each of them on impact. 

“Oh nooo,” Calum moans and Michael squeezes his waist, laughing as Ashton stretches his arms around all three of them. He knows what’s coming, all three of them do, and Ashton doesn’t disappoint, only feigns a snuggle for a second before he starts shoving his hips against them, connecting mostly with Calum’s thigh and Michael’s hip. It’s not the most ferocious of humps, but enough to knock them around a bit. 

“No humping,” Luke whines, burying his face against Calum’s chest. 

“You’re gonna break the fuckin’ bed,” Michael says. 

“Again,” adds Calum and Ashton relents, giggling and pressing his face to Michael’s shoulder for a second before he rolls off to the side. “You’re such a weirdo,” Calum says and Ashton grins like he’s proud and slaps Luke’s ass. 

“Time to get up!” He announces and Luke scrambles up to sit. 

“What time is it?” Michael asks. 

“Early. We have a hot date with Jarvis.” Ashton bounces the mattress a bit and then feels for Michael’s leg, spider-walking his fingers up the length of his thigh until Michael kicks at him. 

“Ha ha, no,” Michael says and tugs the pillow over his head. Calum smiles at him, he wishes he had the balls to stay in bed too, to be like Mikey and not care so much about what his arms and stuff look like. He probably wouldn’t if he didn’t feel like he was being watched all the time. It’d be okay if it was just the fans but they’re definitely getting caught in the One Direction crossfire with photographers taking their picture and stuff. It’s not exactly insecurity, but he feels like he needs to look good, being under that kind of scrutiny. Ash says it’s part of the job, it’s their responsibility to look their best. (Michael had thrown his phone at him as soon as he’s uttered the words ‘sex symbol’, though.) 

“Can we get breakfast first?” Calum asks. Michael lifts the edge of the pillow to scowl at him, mouthing ‘traitor’. Calum shoves the pillow back down on his face and squirms out of the tangle of blankets and Michael to sit up. 

“You can have a protein shake,” Luke says, and looks extremely sad about it. 

“Ugh.” Calum wrinkles his nose and Michael huffs a very pointed ‘ha!’ at him from under the pillow. 

-

Calum’s legs feel like jelly as he leans against the wall of the lift, letting his eyes slip closed. He feels good, but he’s starving. The ham and cheese toasties in the brown paper bags in his hand are making his mouth water. There’s two, one for Michael as well, and a coffee for each of them to go with it. 

“Oi, lazy boy,” Calum says, banging into their room, slamming the door shut louder than he intended with a shove of his hip, key card between his teeth as he juggles toasties and coffee cups. The coffee place didn’t have trays, but Calum’s done really well so far at not dropping anything, hasn’t even spilled. 

He puts his coffee and toastie down and takes the others to Michael, setting his coffee down on the bedside table and reaching to stroke Michael’s cheek, hand warm from the cup. “I got you breakfast,” Calum says. He doesn’t want to get too close, he’s still a bit sweaty from the workout, knows he must smell pretty ripe. They did lots of sprints. 

Michael nuzzles into Calum’s touch, stubble rasping against Calum’s fingertips, almost ticklish. Calum curls his fingers and rubs his knuckles along his jaw too, just to feel. He likes it so much when Michael gets a bit beardy. 

Michael’s eyelids twitch a bit before he opens them, and then he yawns and stretches out, Calum’s fingers bumping his mouth before he manages to pull his hand away. His lips are dry and pink, curving into a soft smile to match the gentle creases on his cheek from the pillow. 

“I brought breakfast,” Calum says, and waves the paper bag with Michael’s toastie inside at him. He drops it on Michael’s chest and Michael unearths a hand from the covers to peer inside the bag. 

“Oh man, you’re the best tour wifey ever.” 

“Shut up, I’m not your wifey.” 

“You totally are. We snuggle and you bring me breakfast, that’s what marriage is,” Michael says. Calum disagrees. There’s sex in marriages. But his ears go all hot thinking it, and then remembering Michael’s sleep soft voice in the night, calling him back to bed, how it had felt awfully married then. Intimate and private. 

He doesn’t argue. Michael’s just being dumb. Calum’s heart is beating a little quicker as he turns back to grab his own breakfast and settles on the foot of Michael’s bed. 

“I would be the husband,” Calum mumbles and takes a large bite of his toastie and chews it in what he hopes is a vaguely aggressive, manly manner. 

Michael sits up, reaching for his coffee cup and taking off the lid carefully. He licks the froth off the inside of the lid. Calum tries not to watch. “The best husband ever,” he says, froth clinging to his lip, “I’m the luckiest girl alive.” He sighs dreamily, and it makes Calum blush. 

“I need to take a shower,” Calum says and Michael grunts, disinterested, reaching for his phone as he nibbles on the corner of his toastie. 

-

By the time Calum emerges from the bathroom Michael is already lost to his laptop. 

“Ash wants to go shopping, d’you want anything?” He’s not even going to bother asking Michael if he wants to come. 

Michael hums in consideration, and then trails off for a minute, attention caught by the game in front of him again until Calum huffs and throws a sneaker at his suitcase, the noise of it rebounding off the wall reminding him that Calum, like, exists, still. 

“Bring me back a present,” Michael says and even manages to look away from the screen for a moment to grin at Calum and flutter his eyelashes. 

-

So Calum does bring him back a present, a little squeezy stress ball shaped like a boob. It’s stupid but he can’t wait to give it to him. It’s pretty funny, especially if you squeeze it so the nipple pops out all big and distorted. He bought him a t-shirt too but it feels a little embarrassing now to have bought him two presents, so he’ll just slip it into Michael’s suitcase when he’s not looking and wait for him to find it himself. 

But Michael’s not there when Calum gets to the room. It’s almost disorienting, for Michael not to be where Calum left him, but of course that’s normal, Michael’s a normal person that does things. 

His own bed looks just as uninviting and strange as it did in the night. Michael’s not here to invite him into his again though, so Calum huffs and flops down onto his bed, flicking his feet one after the other to send his thongs bouncing off the far wall with a satisfying smack and leaving a dusty footprint behind. 

Michael’s bed is covered in pillows, with his laptop lying still open on top. The t-shirt Michael’s been sleeping in lies in a crumpled heap on the floor between their beds. Calum feels a sense of solidarity towards it, like he wants to pick it up and fold it neatly, treat it with the respect it deserves. It’s a really bizarre urge, so instead he pulls out his phone and brings up Twitter. 

He replies to Ashton’s selfie in his newly acquired t-shirt first, and then scrolls down his feed kind of absently, not really paying attention, and just happens to click on a random twitpic link that loads up a picture of Michael. Calum frowns. He doesn’t recognise it, and it hasn’t been edited, so it must be new, recent. 

Michael’s with Harry in the picture, outside somewhere, both of them squinting in the sun, Michael’s skin almost blinding next to Harry’s tan. They’re posing with a fan, dumb grins on their faces and Harry’s got Michael’s cheek pinched between his fingers. 

Calum thumbs the screen black, and scratches the bridge of his nose. He’s still frowning, shoulders tensed up. He knows what his Twitter feed is going to be full of without even looking, it’s the same any time the fans get wind of Michael and Harry hanging out and it makes Calum feel the same way every time. Grumpy. 

It’s stupid. Michael doesn’t even hang out with Harry that much. Calum gets it, though; he still asked Michael what was up after he turned up showing off a big, obvious hickey and blamed it on Harry. Michael just laughed at him and assured him that if he _was_ having a love affair with Harry Styles pop superstar, Calum would be the first to know. 

But Calum still feels like sniping at people on Twitter for retweeting the picture like it means something, feels like opening up a text to Michael too, bitch him out for going to hang out with Harry when he refused to leave the hotel room for _days_ to go out with them. 

-

“Are you waiting up for me?” 

Calum jerks awake, panicking for a second at the unexpected feeling of a hand on his ankle before his brain catches up out of sleep and he realises it’s just Michael tugging on his foot. 

Calum doesn’t even remember dozing off. He’s still dressed, on top of his covers, TV remote on his belly under his folded hands, infomercials loud on the wall-mounted TV. “Huh?” 

Michael’s fingers are warm, squeezing before slipping away. Looking at him properly, Calum can tell he’s a little drunk, wavering a bit on his feet, face soft and hazy. “You fell asleep waiting up for me,” Michael says, smiling wide and sweet. He climbs onto Calum’s bed, crawling clumsily up Calum’s body to flop onto his chest. “Such a good husband.” 

Calum puts his arm around Michael’s shoulders, presses his palm flat between Michael’s shoulder blades. “M’not your husband,” Calum mumbles. 

Michael frowns. It’s cute. He lifts his head from Calum’s chest to fix him with what Calum’s sure he intended to be a stern look, but just comes off painfully pouty. “Don’t you want to marry me?” 

There’s a second of tense silence. It’s probably only tense for Calum, what with how Michael seems to get distracted by his own eyelashes, blinking slowly and squinting, going a bit cross-eyed trying to look at them. Calum gets distracted by them too for a second, long and pretty, so easy from there for his gaze to slip down to his mouth. 

“Where did you get booze?” he asks, safer than asking Michael why his mouth always looks so soft and pink. 

Michael snaps out of it, eyes focusing back on Calum - well, Calum’s chin, as he drops his face back down to Calum’s chest and rubs his nose there. “We were hanging out on the crew bus.” 

“We,” Calum repeats darkly. 

Michael drags his face back up, mouth open, wet warm through cotton. “Me and Harry.” 

“Of course,” Calum mumbles, letting himself be a little huffier than he should in the face of Michael’s slight inebriation. Michael just looks delighted. 

“You’re jealous,” Michael says. “I’m not fucking Harry.” 

“Why would I be jealous of that?” 

“Dunno,” Michael shrugs. “But, I’m not,” he says, fixing Calum with as serious a stare as he can manage when he’s all flushed from drink. 

“Okay,” Calum agrees and Michael sits up a little, hand stroking down Calum’s chest clumsily, his fingers inching up under Calum’s t-shirt when he gets to the hem. Calum breathes in sharply, his tummy sensitive and Michael’s touch soft. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m not doing anything,” Michael says, and pushes further up Calum’s belly, fingers warm and ticklish on Calum’s skin. It feels good, even though the air is cool, makes him shiver a little, his skin exposed as Michael pushes his t-shirt up. 

Calum squirms. He feels vulnerable, over-sensitive. “Tickles,” he mumbles, which is a mistake because Michael only smirks and dances his fingers up and down Calum’s sides, making Calum jerk and whine under him. 

“You’re so ticklish,” Michael says, his voice deep and his eyes clearer than they had been. He looks fond, hands resting over Calum’s ribs, thumbs stroking just slightly. 

“Fuck off,” Calum pouts and Michael giggles, another swipe of his horrible tickling scuttling fingers all the way up to Calum’s pits, shirt shoved up, bunched around his chest. Calum squirms and snatches his arms over his chest, muscles flexing to trap Michael’s hands tight enough that he can’t wriggle his fingers anymore. 

“Quit,” Calum huffs, and Michael’s shoulders slump, arms limp. Calum takes it as enough of a sign of Michael’s giving in to relax, arms slipping back to his sides as Michael moves his hands back to the safe territory of Calum’s chest. 

Calum’s breath catches as Michael thumbs over his hard nipples. He’s embarrassed, wants to whine about the cold in explanation, but Michael glances at Calum’s face and rubs his thumb in a more deliberate circle. Calum’s lips part, unsure of Michael’s game, caught by how good it feels. 

“What are y--” 

Michael cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Nothing. Not doing anything.” 

Calum knows it’s not true, but he keeps his mouth shut, watches with wide eyes as Michael leans down, lips parted and shining pink, and licks, tongue flicking against Calum’s nipple. Calum gasps and Michael smiles, looking up at him as he takes it delicately between his teeth, sharp white teeth catching on sensitive skin. 

He tugs, just lightly, but Calum whines, it’s too much. He sits up suddenly, jostling Michael back off him, fingers rubbing over his nipple defensively, the feel of Michael’s teeth, the wet heat of his mouth, echoing through his chest, sinking down to sit heavy in his belly. 

“Did I hurt you?” Michael asks not looking at all concerned, just sitting there half poised over Calum, fingers snuck back onto Calum’s side somehow, brushing the skin there. It’s like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, his hands just unconsciously drawn to Calum’s body. 

Calum shakes his head. “Didn’t Harry put out tonight, or what?” He says it with a smile, but pulls his t-shirt back down over his chest just in case, the tension of the moment sticking with him a little. 

It’s no good, Michael just smirks and flops back down on Calum, his hand tucked under his t-shirt still, spread out warm on his belly, rubbing little distracting circles there. Calum feels the weight of it all the way down to his toes, and in his dick too. “Harry gave me some advice.” 

“It that’s why you tried to bite my fucking nipple off then me and him are gunna need to talk,” Calum huffs, but accepts Michael’s insistent nuzzling, tipping his head to the side to make room for Michael’s nose to rub against his throat. It’s safer, normal. 

He expects the feeling of Michael’s ticklish breath, comes with the giggling after all, but he doesn’t expect to feel his mouth, hot and wet, open, against his throat, lips dragging what Calum swears must be kisses up behind his ear. “No, that was my idea,” Michael murmurs, his voice low, rough, so close, before he goes right back to the hot little kisses, nosing up under Calum’s jaw until he tips his head back, allowing Michael to suck a slow, hot kiss where his skin is softest, which feels. 

It feels good. It feels sexy, is what it feels, and Calum’s at a bit of a loss. He knows Michael needs to stop, but he doesn’t want him to. He’s watched Michael do this a hundred times - not on purpose, he’s not some kind of weirdo - but he’s seen Michael with girls and it just never occurred to him to, to want, like he wants now. 

He can feel his pulse beating against Michael’s mouth, slips his hand around Michael’s shoulders and into his hair as Michael drags his teeth light and teasing down his throat, licks a hot stripe at the bottom, breath cool over hot, damp skin. Michael pauses there, pulls back a little and Calum freezes, waits the long, terrible moment until Michael brushes his lips against his skin again in a tender kiss. “Do you want,” Michael mumbles, “should I stop?” 

Calum can’t think of anything beyond the feeling of Michael’s mouth on his skin, his warm, reassuring hand on his belly. He’s had dreams like this before, waking up unsettled and hot and shamefully sticky. “No,” he says, voice cracking down the middle. He feels about fifteen again, which wasn’t too long ago, but he feels like the first time a girl let him put his hand up her skirt. 

There’s been a few girls between then and now but none of them have prepared him for this, none of them have been Mikey. It’s equal parts want and fear shook up until the feeling’s just sharp, and exciting, and paralyzing. Calum tries to remind himself that it’s just Michael, but that thought in particular is the opposite of calming, sends a jolt like hot electricity down his spine, makes him shiver, eyes slipping closed as he scratches his fingers against Michael’s scalp, Michael’s hot mouth mumbling, “yeah,” against his skin. 

“What,” Calum says, swallows down the breathless little noise he almost makes when Michael nibbles at his collarbone, lips half caught on the neckline of Calum’s t-shirt. He wants to take it off. Wants to take his pants off too, and then get Michael out of his clothes as well. He doesn’t want anything between Michael’s mouth and whatever skin he’d like to put it on next. “The advice, what was the advice,” he gasps, frustrated at himself, squirming against the crazy desire to get naked, his t-shirt suddenly too tight, too hot, the soft cotton suddenly feeling sandpaper rough against his skin. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Michael sits back, and Calum’s neck feels hot and damp and sensitive, bruised, and it’s amazing but the space between Calum’s skin and Michael’s mouth is awful. 

Michael reaches back over his head and tugs his shirt off. 

“Oh,” Calum says. 

He does the same, gets it off without having to sit up, which isn’t very dignified or easy but he’s not sure if he even _can_ sit up. He feels dizzy and weak, or too heavy, or something. He doesn’t want to move from right where he is, not with Michael right where _he_ is. When he frees his head from the tangle of his t-shirt, Michael is up on his knees, purple pink fringe hanging over his eyes as he concentrates on getting his jeans undone, fingers a little clumsy. 

Calum drops his shirt off the side of the bed and Michael shoves his jeans down his thighs in a frantic rush, flops over onto his ass to kick them off his legs. Calum watches him and still has no clue what is happening, but it’s okay because Michael seems to have some idea, in his underwear now just like Calum, and crawling back up Calum’s body. 

It’s not new, Michael’s body pressed to Calum’s, Michael’s bare skin against his, but it feels different. Michael settles on top of Calum, heavy and warm, the soft hair on Michael’s thighs rasping against Calum’s, almost ticklish as their legs fit together. Michael kisses Calum’s chest, his throat, his lips as soft as the gentle curve of his belly against Calum’s. 

Michael’s green eyes look darker, his eyelids lowered as he studies Calum’s face, his mouth. “Harry said that I should just,” Michael swallows, hesitant, licks his lips. 

Calum frowns and opens his mouth to ask what it was that Harry said, and Michael kisses him. Just leans in and bumps his mouth against Calum’s. It’s an awkward second before Calum catches up, fits their lips properly together, and then Michael’s just really kissing him, and he’s kissing back. Mouth opening against the wet heat of Michael’s, lips catching slick, sweet and slow. Calum feels like his chest might burst, or maybe his heart, a strange pressure in his throat, behind his eyes, that’s only relieved when he winds his arm around Michael’s waist, pulling him tighter against him as he arches up, licking at the sweet curve of Michael’s lip, shivers when Michael’s hot tongue chases his back into his mouth. 

Michael pauses to swallow, lets out a long, unsteady breath, “Said I should tell you that-.” 

Calum can feel each movement of his mouth against his own as he speaks, just barely brushing. He’s in shock, he must be, what else could be stopping him from kissing Michael again? “That I wanted to kiss you,” Michael says, and deflates a bit, props himself up on his elbows, putting space between them. Calum whines. He doesn’t like this habit Michael’s developed, of giving him touch and then taking it away. 

“Yeah?” Calum says, a mite testily. 

“Guess you know that now though, shit.” Michael eyes go wide, he touches his mouth. “Fuck.” 

“You’re such a dickhead,” Calum laughs, shakes his head, and then reaches for the back of Michael’s neck, draws him back down and kisses him again. 

Michael makes a little noise against Calum’s mouth, and Calum thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. He settles back against Calum’s body, his fingers seemingly hesitant now when they find Calum’s jaw, touching lightly like he thinks Calum might break, or disappear. 

Calum knows Michael’s body as well as his own. He may never have kissed him before tonight, but he knows where Michael likes to be touched, knows where’s comforting and where makes him melt. Nails scratching at his scalp is good, makes Michael gasp a sweet little breath against Calum’s bottom lip, kiss him harder, nipping at his mouth and making Calum’s belly jump. 

A hand sweeping down Michael’s back, squeezing at his waist, before settling over his ass makes Michael moan, rock his hips against Calum’s. There’s hardly anything between them, just their underwear, and Calum can feel him, his cock, thick and hot pressed in the groove of his hip. Calum knows Michael must be feeling the same thing, he’s just as hard. 

“Oh my god,” Michael gasps, breaking away suddenly, rolling to the side. He covers his face with his hands and Calum takes the opportunity to look, his own chest rising and falling with heavier breaths as he takes in the sight of Michael, flushed pink down his pale chest, the sight of his cock fat in his underwear, the tip of him peeking out shiny red from his waistband. It makes something catch in Calum’s chest, just the honesty of it. 

It’s simple really; dicks, best mates, sex. It makes perfect sense and it makes Calum’s dick hard, so he reaches over and slips his hand down Michael’s pants, curves his fingers over his cock, pushes at the waistband with the back of his hand until it slips down and catches under Michael’s balls. 

His cock is thick, thicker than Calum’s, but only just. Enough to feel the difference with his hand wrapped around him anyway. It’s such a thing to see, his hand on a dick that isn’t his own, but it’s good. Doesn’t feel weird, or wrong. When he looks back at Michael’s face he doesn’t have it covered anymore, or at least his hand has slipped down to uncover his eyes, his fingers resting on his bottom lip. 

“Cal,” he says, hardly even audible, but there’s so much need in it, and Calum just feels like he knows exactly what he’s supposed to do. He nods, squirms in close, hand shifting on Michael’s cock and making him gasp, takes Michael’s hand away from his mouth and kisses him again. 

It only takes half a second before he feels Michael touch him, palm rubbing firm against his cock before his fingers scramble under his waistband. Calum reaches down to help him get his cock out, and then Michael wraps his hand around Calum’s cock and Calum just has to pull away for a second to see it, take it in. 

It makes his hips jerk, looking down, watching Michael’s pale hand stroke down the length of his cock slow and deliberate, following the line of his arm back up to his face, groans and kisses him hard, Michael mumbling, “yeah, I know,” into his mouth before he gasps speechless from Calum rolling his palm over the slick head of his cock, getting it wet so he can better stroke him. 

They’re not really kissing, no focus for it with their hands on each other’s dicks, but they stay close anyway, mouths pressed together. Michael’s grip is perfect, tight, stroking him to match Calum’s rhythm on his own dick. It’s clumsy, just a dry hand job, but it’s so good. Calum can’t believe it and it makes him press closer, steal hard, gasping kisses from Michael’s mouth to prove it’s real. 

Calum’s pretty close but he thinks Michael’s closer, gasping and tense, hips jerking, trying to fuck Calum’s fist. His grip on Calum’s cock just gets clumsier until it slips away and Calum doesn’t mind, can feel Michael’s fingers flexing against his hip and understands what it’s like. 

Calum concentrates, switches his grip up, swipes his thumb over the shining pink head of Michael’s cock, fascinated by the little jerks of Michael’s hips, the way it makes his breath catch. Michael’s eyes are closed, and he’s biting his lip, his adam’s apple bobbing like he’s trying to keep quiet, holding in whatever sounds he wants to make, holding his breath. 

“Mikey,” Calum says, surprised by the sound of his own voice, how rough it is. Michael whines in response, his fingers slipping around Calum’s wrist, squeezing tight. He looks at Calum, face flushed pink, his green eyes so much darker than usual, pupils dilated, black almost eclipsing green. His lips are swollen, dark, and it makes Calum’s belly tense when he remembers it’s because of him, that his mouth probably looks similarly kiss-bruised. Calum licks his lips, can still feel Michael’s mouth against his, wants to make sure he remembers it properly. 

Michael reaches for Calum, hand on the back of his neck drawing him in close, flushed chest rising and falling quickly with his gasping breath, moans as they kiss again, clumsy and hot, Michael licking greedily into Calum’s mouth, fucking Calum’s fist. “Don’t have to keep quiet,” Calum mumbles against Michael’s cheek, stubble a rough drag against Calum’s lips. He loves it, has felt Michael’s stubble against his skin in all sorts of places but never with his mouth. 

He nuzzles Michael’s cheek, full bottom lip dragging against the grain in hot open-mouthed kisses, bites at Michael’s jaw and Michael gasps, “fuck,” arches his neck, head tipped back, and Calum knows this, knows Michael likes his throat kissed, bitten, sucked on, has witnessed the way Michael goes all melty if he even brushes his lips there during a snuggle, has been curious but never game enough to try. 

It’s hard to concentrate on it, he can’t take the time he wants to with how overwhelming it is to be touching Michael’s dick, fist slipping over it quickly, squeezing tight, all slick with pre-come, but he has to, Calum doesn’t know if this is one time only thing, he might not ever get a chance again to see if his mouth pressed to Michael’s throat makes him come any quicker. 

Hips shifting against Michael’s side, cock rubbing against his hip, Calum kisses Michael’s throat, feels his breath catch with his lips. “Cal,” Michael gasps and Calum licks, decides he likes the taste, nips at Michael’s throat, catching his skin between his teeth, and feels Michael’s cock twitch in his hand. It makes his heart beat faster, his grip tighten, Michael fucking his fist almost frantically. 

Calum whines, his own hips rocking restlessly against Michael’s side, rutting himself against Michael’s soft hip. He probably bites down too hard, a little frustrated, clumsy with the need to get off fighting against the want to focus on making Michael come. Calum feels the muscle of Michael’s throat beneath skin with his teeth, feels him moan with his lips, tongue. 

“Cal,” Michael gasps again and Calum just sucks harder at his skin, no doubt bruising him. “Jesus,” Michael says, voice tight, with a little giggle that cracks at the end, sounds like it’s punched out of him, especially with how he goes tense, fingers squeezing Calum’s wrist tighter, hips shuddering, cock twitching as he comes with a sweet little whimper Calum can’t help chasing back into his mouth with his tongue. 

He kisses Michael, keeps stroking him as he shudders through his orgasm, trying not to think too hard about the hot feeling of come dribbling down his fist, another boy’s come, Michael’s come. He shudders, presses closer, trying to hide from the strange fear prickling the back of his neck. Michael’s breathing hard, but kissing him sweetly, fingers twisted in Calum’s hair to keep him close. It’s nice enough to distract him, but Calum still makes sure to wipe his hand off on the sheets anyway. 

“Fuck,” Michael says when he has pulled away enough to speak. Calum agrees, cock twitching against Michael's bare hip, the soft skin there a slick with the pre-come that Calum's been leaking. There's little streaks of Michael's come up his belly, so Calum blushes and looks at Michael's face instead, just in time for Michael to push up on his elbow, mouth pressed to Calum's hard enough to force him back a little. 

It's hot, almost painful, the forceful way Michael's kissing him, teeth scraping his lip, jaw forced open wide as Michael fucks his tongue into his mouth. All Calum can do is moan, and before he knows it he's on his back, Michael a solid weight on top of him, his skin so soft against Calum's. 

“I'm gonna blow you,” Michael says, voice rough. Calum whines, overwhelmed, arching up under Michael to rub his cock on something, anything, he's so hard. Michael pulls away far enough that Calum can see the big, dark bruise on his neck and that makes him moan, too, reaches out to touch, thumb pressing in and making Michael's eyelashes flutter. “Not going to be able to hide it,” Michael mumbles and ducks his head to catch Calum's fingertips with his lips, a soft kiss and then a playful bite that startles a laugh out of Calum. 

Calum strokes Michael's cheek, tugs at his earring, hand on the back of his neck. “Go on, then,” he says and pushes Michael's head down. Michael laughs even though Calum was only half joking. He’s unable to ignore the constant throb of his cock, hard against his belly, so it's good Michael doesn't seem to have any intention of not following through. Michael's mouth bruised dark pink, cheeks flushed, looks up at Calum as he slips down his body, presses a kiss between his ribs, above his belly button. Calum feels like he's going to come and Michael's mouth isn't even on his dick yet. 

“Haven't done this before,” Michael says, his face level with Calum's cock now, looks at it and licks his lips. “Don't make fun of me,” he adds with a little smile and all Calum can do is shake his head before his whole world falls apart when Michael takes his cock delicately in his hand and licks at the head. Calum whimpers like it hurts, and it almost does, the sight of it combined with the feel of Michael's soft, warm tongue just too much, overwhelming. 

He looks beautiful, eyelashes lowered as he takes Calum’s cock into his mouth, lips stretched around the thickness of it, cockhead rubbing against the flat of Michael’s hot tongue as he works out how to do it, how to take more. Calum’s almost trembling, trying to keep still, knows better than to shove his cock down someone’s throat without permission, but it’s hard not to. 

Michael hums, a thick little noise, tilts his head back, straining to open his mouth wider, get more, pulls off with a frustrated little huff, both Calum’s cock and his lips shining wet with spit. “Harder than it looks,” Michael mumbles, but he’s not shy, licks up the length of Calum’s cock, from where his fingers are circled around the base to the very tip, tongue flicking in the slit as he looks up at Calum. 

“It’s okay,” Calum pants, “this is good.” Michael smiles and takes it back into his mouth, lips swollen and full slipping over the head, catching underneath, suckles at just the first inch or so, stroking his hand over the remaining length, thumb pressed firm to the underside. “Fuck,” Calum shudders, hips jerking. 

“Are you gonna come?” Michael asks, pulled off to talk but his lips still bumping Calum’s cock. Calum just nods, bites his lip, tips his head back when Michael starts sucking again, his hand going to Michael’s hair. 

Michael moans when Calum comes but Calum barely even registers it, seeing stars against his eyelids, fingers tugging Michael’s hair. Doesn’t even realise he’s coming in Michael’s mouth until he’s almost through and it makes his balls ache, cock kicking out another spurt of come over Michael’s lips as he groans. 

Michael wipes his face on his fingers, and then his fingers on the sheets, grimacing. “S’fucking gross,” he says, breathless still, his voice all rough. 

“Yeah,” Calum agrees even though he’s never tasted his own, or anyone’s, come. He’d kind of like to taste Michael’s though, even if it’s gross. Fair’s fair. It makes him blush just thinking about it, so he reaches for Michael and pulls him up to kiss him. 

Michael hesitates for a second, and then melts against him. Michael’s mouth tastes more bitter than before, and Calum supposes that it must be his come that made the difference. It’s not so bad, it’s still feels so good that Calum probably wouldn’t stop kissing him no matter what he tasted like. 

“You owe me,” Michael mumbles, smiling. “I let you come in my _mouth_.” 

Calum doesn’t know how Michael can be so casual about it, almost wants to slap his hand over his mouth and shush him. It’s one thing to have done it, but another for Michael to just say it. He wonders if he’ll tell Luke and Ashton, and feels a little sick. 

It was easy a second ago, Calum just seemed to tap into some unrealised fucking around with your best friend knowledge, and he can’t quite grasp it now. Just like his skin cooling and his heart beat returning to a steady, even pace, the uneasiness seeps into him with each passing second until it feels weird, awkward, for Michael to be on top of him. It’s the worst thing he’s ever felt. He’s never been uncomfortable around Michael before and it’s heartbreaking. What if everything’s fucked now? What was he even thinking? 

“We’re good, right?” Michael says, and Calum can just see him folding back into himself, the innocent openness in his face clouding over. 

“Yeah,” Calum says certainly. He wants to be. They will be. Michael rolls off him and it feels wrong. Calum’s fingers twitch with the instinct to reach out, but he can’t, his body won’t let him. 

Michael rubs his nose in a pillow, curled up on his side to face Calum, his body curved in on itself a little, knees tucked up like a barrier between them. “Fuck,” he groans and hides his face. “Have I fucked everything up?” 

Calum’s heartbeat picks up, he almost feels panicked, can taste the strange tense sensation in the back of his throat. He wants to hide, ignore it, play willful ignorance and pretend nothing’s changed, but Michael looks small next to him, curled up and hiding, and it’s strange, he doesn’t see Michael like this very often, can’t even remember the last time. Calum’s not in this alone. 

Michael peeks out and Calum shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. 

“Was I really that bad?” Michael mumbles and Calum laughs, making Michael pout. 

“Yeah, sorry, we can’t be mates anymore because you give shitty blowjobs,” he says and Michael’s face cracks into a grin, reaches out and shoves Calum’s shoulder. Calum catches his wrist and holds on, forging a new point of contact that draws Michael back to him, a shy little wiggle across the bed to be close again. Calum licks his lips, swallows, hates feeling nervous like this, stripped back and laid bare. He lets Michael’s hand slip out of his grip and Michael leaves his hand where it falls, palm warm on Calum’s chest. It feels so deliberate, like a test. 

“It was good,” Calum says, eyes flicking to meet Michael’s and away again. Michael’s fingers tense on Calum’s chest. “We’re good. You’re my best friend,” he says, but it seems to be the wrong thing, as Michael groans and takes his hand away. It hurts. Calum regrets his careful sincerity. 

Michael huffs and sits up, swings around to sit cross-legged facing Calum, stares down at his hands curled in his lap. It reminds Calum of when they were younger, before they were even friends, in primary school when the whole class still had to sit on the mat for group time. 

“We’re,” Michael starts and the frustration in his voice makes Calum sit up too, a little bit, slumped against the headboard, sheet pulled over his lap. “Is that what you want?” Michael asks, looking up through his fringe, all clear, green eyes, a tense, set expression on his face. 

“Oh,” Calum says. It’s starting to make sense to him. It wasn’t good. It was bad, he was bad, everything’s ruined and Michael doesn’t think they can be friends anymore. What about the band? How can they be in the band together if Michael touched his dick and hated it enough to not want to be friends anymore? It makes his face burn, a sick angry feeling bubbling up in his chest, his whole body tensing. “You don’t want to be friends anymore?” he asks, his voice tense. He’s never been humped and dumped before, and it’s humiliating. Worse that it’s Michael, his best friend, someone he loves so much. 

“What?” 

If Harry’s advice was the just fuck Calum and get it over with like he doesn’t even matter, Calum’s gonna punch him, but not until after he’s punched Michael first. “This is so fucked up,” Calum says, drawing his body up tight, knees to his chest, trying to put more space between them. No wonder Michael looks so guilty. Good, he should feel guilty. “We’re best friends, this shouldn’t make you hate me. You started it. It’s not my fault I,” Calum bites his lip. It’s not his fault he wanted Michael back. 

“What, shut up,” Michael laughs, which makes Calum angry enough that he lashes out, shoves his foot at Michael, jamming his heel into Michael’s bony shin. “Ow, what are you doing? No!” Michael says, and grabs Calum’s foot, fingers tight on his ankle. “I don’t hate you, dickhead.” 

Calum doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t need to be let down easy. “Let go,” he huffs, and Michael does. 

“Cal, you’re still my best friend,” Michael says. Some consolation prize. Calum rolls over, can’t bear to look at Michael’s face anymore. He wishes Michael would just go if that’s what he was planning. “I want… I’ve wanted to, this makes me sound like such a creep,” Michael groans. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for, for a long time and. It’s okay if you want things to stay the same, but. I don’t.” 

“What d’you mean?” Calum mumbles sulkily. 

“I wanna kiss you all the time. I wanna have sex with you again. I don’t wanna be best friends like with Luke or Ash, I want. I want you, Cal,” Michael says, his voice starting to shake at the end. 

“Oh,” Calum says faintly. It feels like all the blood’s draining from his head and out the bottom of his toes, the tension easing from his body but his heart beating just as quick. “You want me?” Calum feels a little dazed and a lot stupid. He rolls over to look at Michael and Michael nods. 

“It’s okay if, if it’s not the same for you. It’s not like, a big deal.” 

“Shut up, I want you too.” It’s clear now, it makes sense. The weird guilt that comes with snuggling close to Michael, the need to be with him, the jealousy. He’s so stupid. 

Michael just looks at him, Calum can tell he’s still afraid, unsure, it’s all over his face. Calum needs to show him, convince him. 

He reaches out. He’s terrified but Michael’s making him brave. He never wants to make Michael sad and he needs to fix this. He wraps his fingers around Michael’s wrist and tugs. Michael comes easily, shuffling back down to lie on top of Calum. Calum slips his fingers from around Michael’s wrist, strokes down Michael’s palm to fit his fingers between Michael’s. 

“Cal,” Michael says. 

Calum drags their hands up, kisses Michael’s knuckles. “It’s okay. Nothing’s gonna change. I want you too.” 

Michael seems so much more shy when he leans in to kiss Calum this time, and it feels different than before too. Softer, just the gentle press of Michael’s mouth, lips catching Calum’s when he draws away. It’s sweet, and Calum wants to kiss him again. Wants to kiss him all the time. He always has, how could he have been so dumb. 

“Okay,” Michael says, and Calum arches up to take another kiss, and then another. It’s awkward and their noses bump, but Calum’s not worried, everything’s always come so easy with Michael, and they’ll figure it out together, making up for lost time.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are really super appreciated. if you like this, you should let me know! i love hearing that people liked my stories, it makes me want to write more!! validate me :( you can also like and reblog this on [tumblr](http://cyclotomic.tumblr.com/post/64409509618/hey-i-finished-my-malum-fic-always-will)! much love <3


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